


Mary in the Garden

by Fialleril



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament), Gospel According to St. John
Genre: Easter, Feminist Themes, Gen, Mysticism, Poetry, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fialleril/pseuds/Fialleril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reflection on the meeting of Jesus and Mary Magdalene in the garden on the morning of resurrection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary in the Garden

**Author's Note:**

> This is a poetic meditation on John 20.1-18, the appearance of the risen Jesus to Mary Magdalene. I'm always struck by the profound intimacy of the moment, and by the ways in which the message of resurrection is Mary's message.

Very early in the morning,  
while the holy dark still covers the world,  
the woman comes, bearing spices,  
to the garden.

She comes to do the age-old work of women,  
to tend to the mystery of life and death,  
in the twilight space  
between night and day,  
uncertain.

She finds a stone rolled aside,  
the herald of a mystery without a name,  
and in that first moment of twilight uncertainty  
there is a spark of something  
that runs wilder and faster  
than the men she hastens to find  
and beats at the edges of belief  
like a heart-bird against the cage of ribs.

And so when the men are gone she stays.  
She stays, head bowed and weeping,  
as the new morning sun rises  
around and behind and within her,  
touching her face with tremors of light  
and tingling across her skin  
until she looks  
and sees  
for the first time in this new light  
the Garden.

The trees are dancing.  
The leaves and the flowers are ablaze  
with the light of the newborn sun,  
fire dancing in waves  
across the green surface of life.  
A vine trails to the very lip of the tomb  
and bursts forth in exuberant flower.  
The woman thinks of seeds,  
a tremulous, unknowing joy born in her heart.

And then, out of the very flame  
that dances over the leaves of the cypress tree,  
she hears a voice:  
“Woman, why are you weeping?”  
The voice is wild and strong and earth-filled,  
and she does not turn to look,  
for in turning she might not find.

But she says, “Tell me,”  
and the voice from the fire speaks  
and names her “Mary!”

And she turns and knows him instantly.  
He is ablaze with fire like the garden around him,  
the image of a seed  
sprouted and grown to new and astonishing life,  
and the woman,  
Mary,  
looks at him and understands  
that he is gardener and seed and Rabbouni.

Time stills,  
recapitulated and overturned all in a moment,  
and for the second, the third, the eternal time,  
a woman looks upon the face of God  
and recreates the world.


End file.
